Avoidance
by kjewls
Summary: Don catches Sloan at the office watching a certain YouTube video . . .


Avoidance: noun

**1.** the act of keeping away from or preventing from happening

**2.** the act of annulling or making void, the countering of an opponent's plea with fresh evidence

"Last minute script changes," Don Keefer calls out, as he opens the door to Sloan Sabbith's office, without knocking, and tosses a packet of typewritten pages onto her cluttered, but oddly orderly, desk. "Before you say anything, yes, I cut 30 seconds off the back end of your drone strike story to make room for the Trayvon Martin shooting. Now, I know what you're going to say. But, it had to be done, I just . . ."

It is at that moment that Don realizes that Sloan isn't listening to him. Instead, she is frantically trying to close the YouTube video currently playing on her computer.

"What's that?" Don probes, his eyebrows arching as he folds his arms across his chest.

"What's what?" Sloan asks, her voice coming out about two octaves higher than she normally speaks.

"You have this look on your face like I just caught you watching porn," Don muses.

Sloan clasps her hands in front of her on her desk, and sighs. "If I tell you I was watching porn, could we let this matter drop?"

Don considers this for a moment. "Actually, if you told me you were watching porn, I'd probably ask you to describe the porn in as great detail as possible . . . "

"Why?" Sloan asks.

Don shrugs. "Because I'm a guy," he replies matter-of-factly.

Sloan smiles. "OK. You got me. I was watching porn. It involved two guys, and a girl . . . and something about pizza."

"Wasn't that the name of a sitcom starring Ryan Reynolds?" Don asks.

Sloan rolls her eyes. "Can we get back to talking about the drone strikes now? Specifically, your consistent need to undermine my . . ."

"I like pornos about pizza. Show it to me," Don interrupts, as he approaches Sloan's desk.

Sloan's shoulders tense instantly, as Don deftly positions himself behind her chair. "I can't," she retorts. "I already closed the browser window."

She can already feel the heat of his body hovering over hers. Every so often, the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne will tease her nose, and she'll start to feel a bit lightheaded. The gentle, almost loving way his hand cups hers, as he removes it from the mouse, catches her by surprise. By the time she regains her wits about her enough to try and wrench her fingertips from his grasp, Don has already pulled up the browsing history on her telltale computer monitor.

It's probably the first and only time in Sloan Sabbith's life, when she wishes she actually _had _been caught watching porn . . .

Don clicks on the link and cringes inwardly as Maggie's voice blares from Sloan's speakers. He's tortured himself with the video so many times over the past couple of days that he practically knows his now ex-girlfriend's manic monologue by heart.

"_When you fall for a guy and he's going out with your best friend, it doesn't work out . . ."_

After what feels like an eternity, Sloan finally manages to silence the offending video. "Don . . ." she begins apologetically, her hand instinctively encircling his wrist.

Don blinks. "It's fine," he insists, though the icy edge to his voice is unmistakable. "Actually, it's better this way. The more people who see this _now_, the less people to whom I have to explain why Maggie and I are no longer living together . . . or speaking to one another in complete sentences . . . or capable of being in the same room with one another for more than five minutes, without muttering under our breaths some awkward excuse about having to go to the bathroom. Come to think of it, why don't you just go ahead and forward this on to the rest of the staff? No use prolonging the inevitable."

"Don . . ." Sloan attempts to interject again.

"Just promise me you'll give the story a good headline," Don offers dryly. "Something like 'Cable News Producer's Embarrassingly Public Breakup with Girlfriend Sparks Anti-Carrie Bradshaw Feminist Movement. Thousands of Women Burn Their Manolo Blahniks in Effigy.'"

Sloan grins at this, in spite of herself, causing Don to grin in return. They stay that way for a moment, silently regarding one another in that uniquely companionable silence that can only be shared by two kindred spirits. At varying times throughout their lives, both Don and Sloan have been told that their acerbic wit was off-putting, pretentious, even mean-spirited. But when they are together, their special brand of sarcasm somehow feels less like a defense mechanism, and more like a secret language in which only the two of them are fluent.

"Burning Manolo Blahniks in Effigy . . ." Sloan muses. "I like that."

"I figured you would," Don replies in a voice that (deliberately?) walks the line between friendly and flirtatious.

It would be easy for them to go on like this . . . joking about the end of Don's relationship like it didn't matter . . . pretending that nothing had changed. Unfortunately, "easy" wasn't a word that fit in particularly well with the rest of Sloan's vocabulary.

"I feel like there's something witty and reassuring that I should be saying to you right now. But I'm not sure what that something is," Sloan admits wistfully.

Don considers this for a moment. "Well . . . why don't you start with 'I told you so?'"

"Please," Sloan warns, "let's not . . ."

"No, it's OK," Don insists. "I'll even get you started. '_Don_, I told you moving in with Maggie wouldn't work out. I told you that what the two of you had with one another wasn't really love. I told you that the only reason you asked her to move in with you in the first place, was to compensate for the countless guilt trips placed on you by your own mother. I told you not to be jackass, when it comes to women, for once in your life. But you ended up being an even bigger jackass than I could have ever imagined. How'd I do?"

"I'd never say any of that," Sloan says solemnly.

"I know you wouldn't," Don admits tenderly.

"And you're _not_ a jackass," the anchor argues vehemently.

Don shakes his head ruefully, dismissing the statement.

"Don, look at me!" Sloan exclaims, as she impulsively rises from her desk, and cups her right hand underneath Don's chin, forcing his eyes to meet her own.

As soon as Sloan's hands touch Don's face, she realizes she's made a huge mistake. There he is . . . just inches away from her . . . this proud, frustratingly stubborn, unnervingly brilliant, surprisingly kind, beautiful man. And his eyes are boring into hers . . . eyes that are filled with pain, hurt, sadness, and something else . . . Is it _loneliness?_ _Need_? _Lust_?

Sloan's mouth becomes instantly dry, as heat rises up the back of her neck. She wants to kiss him so badly, she can practically taste his mouth on her own. She takes a step closer, pulling his face closer to hers as she moves. Don's eyes widen, as his lips part ever so slightly . . . a silent invitation. This is going to happen. She's really going to do this. She's . . .

"You tried to give your heart to another person, and it didn't work out," Sloan offers finally, in a voice so soft, it's almost a whisper. "That doesn't make you a jackass. It makes you _human_."

For a few moments after Sloan removes her hand from Don's face, he can still feel the ghost of her touch on his cheek. The feeling gives him a sense comfort. Yet, at the same time, it makes him inexplicably sad. "Thank you," he manages huskily.

"You're welcome," she replies.

"Honestly, I owe you an apology," Don continues with a casual shrug.

"Why would you owe me an apology?" Sloan inquires.

"For unloading all my Maggie Drama on you all the time . . . It's not fair of me to do that to you, especially considering . . ." Don trails off.

"Considering _what?"_ Sloan probes.

Don nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Nothing . . . I don't even know what I'm saying any more. I'm going to go. Let me know if you have any questions about the script changes," he mumbles, as he makes a beeline for the door, and gently closes it behind him.

_Considering what, Don? That I'm head over heels in love with you? _Sloan thinks to herself, as she dejectedly slumps back in her office chair.


End file.
